Taking It Slow
by Carlier36
Summary: Sophie settled in for a nice, long bath but her quiet night was interrupted by a knock at the door.


Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage nor am I associated with Dean Devlin, Timothy Hutton or Gina Bellman.

**Taking It Slow**

The water was hot, so hot she could see the steam rising off it, and the bubbles were foaming dangerously close to the edge. Candles dotted the bathroom, sending flickering shadows across the walls. Sophie clipped her hair up, shrugged out of her linen robe and slipped into the inviting bath. She sighed, a deep, meaningful sigh full of all the things you don't say aloud. Turning off the water with her toes and closing her eyes, Sophie settled in for a calming end to a chaotic day.

_Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock._

Sophie let out a groan and simply yelled out, "Who is it?"

"It's Nate!"

If anyone else had shouted back, Sophie would have told them to take their magazine subscriptions to her annoying neighbors, but it was Nate.

"Key's under the little bird bath!" she called, sounding particularly defeated.

There was a brief pause before Sophie heard the lock turn and the door scrape open. It shut again quietly and she smiled at the sound of him habitually kicking off his shoes before padding through the house.

"In here," Sophie helped him out softly.

Nate followed the sound of her voice and, pushing open the partially ajar door, his blue eyes widened.

"What? Not expecting a bathing beauty?" she asked, sarcastic and rhetoric all at the same time.

"Well I was expecting a beauty, just not a bathing one." Nate threw her a crooked smile.

"So? What is it?"

"What's what?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Don't beat around the bush. Why are you here, Nate?"

"I need a reason to come see you? Do you take a bath this time every night? Because I could make a point of coming over," Nate half-kidded, pulling the vanity stool over to the tub and sitting down.

"You always _have_ a reason so it's a justified question. You really just came by… just because?" Sophie raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly disbelieving.

"Yes!" Nate rolled his eyes. "Have a little faith." He flicked bubbles at her before folding his arms on the rim of the tub and resting his chin on them.

Sophie eyed him a warily a moment longer before she caved. Smiling slightly, she brought a hand up out of the water and ran it through his hair. "You need a haircut," she murmured, even as she dragged soap through his curls.

"Maybe you can take care of that for me."

Sophie nodded wordlessly, smoothing the wrinkles in his constantly-furrowed forehead with her thumb. "I think I can," she said gently, "But tomorrow. Right now all I want is a nice, soft bed. Hand me my towel?"

Nate stood to grab the fluffy, white towel off its hook and held it out for her. He gentlemanly looked to the ceiling as she stood from the water before wrapping the towel around her. Holding it together behind her with both hands, he stared up into Sophie's eyes.

Resting both hands on his shoulders, she slowly leaned forward and, giving him plenty of time to back away, pressed her lips to his. Nate's arms wrapped around her as he deepened the kiss and she lifted her feet, so he could pull her all the way from the tub. It was as though he had done it a million times when he carried her across the hall to the bedroom, not bumping into a thing as he went. He set her on her feet and they spent a minute leaned against the door, just savoring the moment and each other. Sophie's hands dropped from Nate's shoulders to the edge of her towel, but he quickly pulled away and caught her wrist.

"No, Sophie, not- not yet." At her confused look, he attempted to elaborate. "I just- can't. Not yet, anyway. We will, I promise; let's just take it a little at a time." His eyes pleaded with her to understand and relief filled them when her face softened.

"Right. Of course. Let me just put something on," Sophie murmured, playing with his collar as she pulled away and disappeared into the closet.

Nate snooped around the bedroom at jewelry and photographs and a painting he recognized. Finally, he flipped himself onto the bed and tucked his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes but they lazily peeked open again when he heard the closet light click off. Sophie stepped out in a relatively modest nightgown, just thin enough to drive him crazy. She smiled and motioned for him to move so she could turn the comforter down. He stripped down to just his pants and they crawled into bed.

It sounded clichéd but she fit perfectly against him. He slept better than he had in two years with her curled up next to him, her hair in his face and her hand on the arm lying across her waist.

Taking it slow, it turns out, works for them.


End file.
